Mother tongue

You lie
You cheat

There are maps
of open sores on your face that refuse to heal
They’re as red as an ambulance

They’re like a pot of rice
left too long on the stove
that threatens to boil over

And then boils over
Your wounds, brother, have become my own
I encourage you

I pray for you
Still, it is not enough

I don’t know what you want from me
What do you want me to do for you?

There are days and nights, hours 
that I just can’t cope

I just lie there 
in the dark, staring at the ceiling

I wear the light like a mask
God is my constant companion

You steal
You curse

You smoke 
like a house on fire

And turn the muscles of your lungs 
into two orange flames

that dissolves into blackness
in the sea of your chest

That is your mother tongue
The language of addiction

Your crime?
In the sprawling desert of your hands

In the tragedy of your yellow fingers
your slender frame

I search your face
for the signs of addiction

Marijuana
Tik

All I find 
are signs of addiction

Instead, I find 
your children, walking in your shadow

Two miracles
Two candles

Two burning effigies
like lanterns in the dark

Guiding you, guiding you
It shouldn’t be a teenager’s responsibility, but it is

Your daughter, a rose
Your son, a giant

I think, their love isn’t enough
It isn’t enough to save you

The moon 
witnesses my despair

It also witnesses 
your own hardship

I thought by now that you’d change
There you are 

in the study rolling a joint
The rose standing next to you

Watching you
She is watching you

She is studying your every move
The giant discovers your drug paraphernalia

He continues to play computer games
So, now I pray for them

That a rose will always be a rose
That a giant will always be a giant

That they will be concerned
for the welfare of the children 

that they will have one day
That they will be the sun and the moon

in their children’s lives
And I pray

That they won’t 
resort to keeping

drugs 
and drug paraphernalia 

in full view 
of their children

I cry everyday, because of you
because of you

Sometimes I look at the rose
and I cry some more

I hide my tears in the garden
in cups of coffee

I want to be brave
like Linda, Charles Bukowski’s wife

I want to be brave
like Charles Bukowski


and Anderson Cooper
who lost a brother and a father

I am only a sister
who doesn’t know who she must blame

I don’t know how to get you 
out of this situation

I don’t know 
how to save you

I don’t know 
how to save the rose, the giant

These hands are ineffectual
And so, I pray.